Ancora Imparo: Poem

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Poem

Sous la tonnelle, trois de jasmin se detachent,

Elles viennent se poser volentantes

sur la surface brulante du the vert

le prince des fluers ne se livre que rarement

et choisit uniquement la fin du jour

ou les suaves somnolences deviennent partage.

2 comments:

1q23 said...: Hmmn. It looses so much in translation.; May 9, 2011 at 3:07 AM
Suf n Steve said...: sorry i couldnt find my french keyboard today, was in another place thou!

i'll get u the translation

happy springtime darl!; May 9, 2011 at 8:53 AM

scribble me silly

Writing can be a hobby, a career, and even a passion. For me, it started out quite simple. I had a little journal that I would scribble my silly stuffs or daily thoughts on life in. As I grew older it became an outlet for my innermost emotions. Whether I was sad, angry or happy, I wrote. It was a way to clear my head. Looking back, those early words almost seem silly now.

The daily drama that caused such disarray in my teen years, now remind me how simplistic life was back then. What I would give to have a life that simple now. Yet if my childhood emotions would not have aroused such turmoil, I doubt my daily anecdotes would have given me such enjoyment.

As the years past the words became less about me and more about writing. I wrote because I needed to. I needed to share my hopes and my dreams with this little book that refused to judge me, but simply listened.